I was out running the dogs through some farm fields today (we have permission). The fields are still mostly frozen and firm, though the snow is gone, and I was reminded of the treasure within. I'm a rock freak, and it is during this time of year, before anything is growing, when Mother Nature pushes up a few of the jewels of her past for show. There is something about these rocks; sedimentary, igneous, metamorphic, that affects me. I pick one up and then think about what was going on with the earth when it was formed. How hot were things when the crystals were settling out? What kinds of things did this little fossil-creature see before he kipped off? Was this rock formed the same year that "Family Circus" was first published?
It's the contrast, I think. I can be fussing with taxes, or some man-made challenge, but holding a little piece of the past, I mean the distant past, in my hand settles me down. It reminds me of my place in the universe. Add a glimpse of a lingering daytime moon and I am absolutely fine. My perspective shifts back to my default setting and I realize how silly it is to worry. Today's walk was no different; head down and scanning for the good stuff, and came back with pockets full of lovely greens and blacks, and a wonderfully calm demeanor.
Now if Canada Revenue would just stop taxing my "place in the universe," I wouldn't need to keep taking these walks to settle down in the first place.